


qué barbaridad haber tenido que esperar (para vernos de tan cerca)

by pasdexcuses



Category: Plan B (2009)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they started going out but after Bruno decided he didn’t really want Laura back, there was this time where every thought in Bruno’s head would start or end with Pablo. It didn’t matter that he was thinking about rent or that milk carton he ought to have thrown out weeks ago, he would always end up thinking about Pablo. That’s how he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	qué barbaridad haber tenido que esperar (para vernos de tan cerca)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pansypolaroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansypolaroid/gifts).



**Disclaimer:** This work is based on the characters as portrayed in the movie Plan B, not real people. And, obviously, I’m not making any money from this. Tittle from Babasónicos' "Puesto".  
  
 _ **qué barbaridad haber tenido que esperar (para vernos de tan cerca)**_  
  
Dating Pablo is not like dating Laura and not just because Pablo has a dick.  
  
Bruno realizes this as soon as he gets dragged inside Pablo’s room that first time. You see, it’s all in the way people kiss. Bruno has kissed Pablo before but this is different. There is purpose behind the press of Pablo’s mouth against his. A goal that wasn’t there before, and Bruno can’t help but think of Laura and how this isn’t like kissing her. Not at all. Kissing her was a matter of always getting the upper hand even when neither of them was trying particularly hard.  
  
Kissing Pablo isn’t like that. Pablo gives openly. Almost like he is waiting for Bruno to take and take, take, take.  
  
In Pablo’s room, Bruno feels naked even before Pablo starts fumbling with his belt, hands shaking. Bruno chuckles at Pablo’s frustrated attempts but his throat goes dry as soon as Pablo manages to work his pants. He smirks at Bruno, who smiles lopsidedly in turn. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Bruno has to push through the knots twisting in his stomach to get down to his boxers.  
  
Pablo does so, too, which isn’t anything new and yet it is. Closing his eyes, Pablo goes to kiss him and misses his mark by a quarter of an inch, lips landing just above Bruno’s mouth instead. Pablo’s mouth on his face makes him laugh, a nervous sound that bubbles up and out of him. He can’t seem to stop and soon, Bruno’s wiping tears from his eyes. It goes on until Pablo grabs the back of his neck, kissing him full on the lips. Bruno has his eyes wide open, still somewhat choking from the lack of air. He had never noticed the freckle on the side of Pablo’s nose or how uneven Pablo’s stubble feels on his cheek.  
  
*  
  
So it goes like that. Except maybe not because sometimes Pablo kisses Bruno, and Bruno is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
When they start out, Bruno does these little things. He wouldn’t call them tests but the first night Pablo sleeps over, he purposefully steals all the sheets. It’s the beginning of fall, so Bruno isn’t about to feel bad over it when Pablo doesn’t say anything. He does it again and over again. By the end of the week, Pablo hasn’t tried to steal back the blankets. Instead, he scoots closer before Bruno can make a bundle of his body and the sheets. Bruno wakes up confused in the morning. He has to blink a couple of times before he can see that the dead weight on his torso is Pablo wrapped around him. It puts a smile on his face and that is the end of that.  
  
Then there’s that thing with the remote where the only thing they can agree on is Blind and that aside, it’s always an argument over who gets to watch what. Bruno likes to watch Animal Planet but Pablo is strangely and strongly opposed to animal-related documentaries. However, after the first argument, the ones that follow barely make it past the ten-minute mark before they settle on whatever comedy is on or start making out on the couch, whichever happens first.  
  
Bruno expects and waits. But the other shoe never drops. He waits a week, then two and three. Now it’s been a couple of months and Pablo has slotted himself in the curve of Bruno’s body because his feet get cold in the winter. Pablo wraps them in a cocoon of blankets that smell as much of him as they do of Bruno.  
  
*  
  
“Want some?” Pablo says, passing a bowl of popcorn.  
  
Bruno grabs a handful, spilling half of it on the sofa. Pablo rolls his eyes but Bruno can see the smile he’s trying to hide around a mouthful of popcorn. “How long has it been?” Bruno asks, staring at the opening credits. “Six months?”  
  
“Five weeks.”  
  
There’s an unintentional pause as Bruno stares blankly at the remote. He’d been joking when he said six months. But five weeks seems like an eternity in and of itself. Especially when, now that he thinks about it, he’s sure he hasn’t slept alone in bed in at least that long.  
  
Bruno thinks he hears Pablo say something but it isn’t until he throws popcorn at his head that Bruno turns to face him.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Pablo asks.  
  
Bruno blinks at him. “You, my love,” he says, if only because he loves the mix of embarrassment and weariness that washes over Pablo’s face whenever he says something even remotely insinuating. Bruno puckers up to drive his point home. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when Pablo actually blushes. He adds, “You don’t believe me? Oh, but I love you so!”  
  
Blinking, Pablo opens his mouth. “You… I…”  
  
“C’mere, give us a kiss!”  
  
“You’re not— Oh, you are— wait, wait,” he says, fumbling for the remote but Bruno gets to it first.  
  
He looks at it, considering briefly handing it over. Instead, he puts it in his mouth. He smiles widely at Pablo around the remote, wiggling his eyebrows.  
  
“You,” Pablo starts, reaching out to grab the remote but Bruno easily dodges his hand. “Are absurd.” He gives up after a second attempt, rolling his eyes.  
  
Closing the distance between them, Pablo grabs the back of Bruno’s neck. Bruno lets him take the remote from his mouth. There’s a pause, a moment where they don’t move as Pablo wipes the remote on Bruno’s shirt before hitting a button.  
  
Bruno is still grinning when Pablo says, “This is disgusting.”  
  
Their faces are close enough for Bruno to go cross-eyed, turning Pablo’s face into a funny blur with beard when he says, “If you had kissed me when I asked, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”  
  
“Yes, because you’re a child.”  
  
Cocking his head, Bruno says, “Yeah?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
Bruno wants to smirk, but Pablo breathing so close to his face is a bit distracting. He gulps before saying, “So what, you’re a bit of a pedophile?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Pervert.”  
  
“You gonna kiss me or what?”  
  
“Well, if you insist.”  
  
He runs his tongue along Pablo’s bottom lip before sucking on it. He knows Pablo likes it because he always ends up moaning into Bruno’s mouth. That, and Pablo may have accidentally told him so while high. It doesn’t really matter, so long as Bruno gets to have his way with him on their old couch.  
  
 _His_  old couch. Frowning, Bruno props himself up on his elbow. Pablo is staring at him from below, pupils blown. Bruno can feel himself blinking at him and stumbling on the same word.  _His_  couch.  _His_  apartment.  
  
Except Bruno woke up this morning and found Pablo doing the dishes. Except last night Pablo was the one who stood up for an extra blanket while Bruno sprawled all over the bed and laughed at him and his cold feet. Except… He can’t remember the last time Pablo slept at his own place.  
  
“I thought you were gonna kiss me?” Pablo drawls out, hand wondering toward the waistband of Bruno’s trousers. He smiles at Bruno.  
  
For a split second, Bruno wonders if Pablo knows about it. If Pablo remembers he has a place of his own he hasn’t been to in weeks. But then Pablo thrusts his hips up, and Bruno smirks down at him.  
  
So, his couch, their couch. It doesn’t matter, right? Right.  
  
*  
  
Bruno gets obsessed with it. He gets out of the shower and his eyebrow furrows because he can’t remember buying the yellow towels. He _knows_  Pablo has brought stuff over. He has  _seen_  Pablo bringing stuff over. But Bruno is pretty sure the towels are as much his as they are Pablo’s. He’s not stupid. He knows, for all intends and purposes, Pablo has moved in.  
  
And yet, as far as Bruno knows, Pablo still has his own flat. Pablo has never said — or at least Bruno can’t recall Pablo saying it — “our bed” or “our apartment”.  
  
When he knows Pablo isn’t listening, he tries out the words. “Our bed” and “our TV” are okay. They roll off Bruno’s tongue with such ease he suspects he’s been thinking about them like this for a while. But “our home” and “our keys”, well, they make him stumble. Mostly because he isn’t sure it’s theirs. Everything in the flat is Bruno’s. Well, okay, not really. There’s that ugly vase he stole from Ana and the pictures Laura left behind. But everything else is his. Not the towels, obviously, or the coffee maker or the photography paraphernalia. But everything else.  
  
*  
  
It isn’t a problem. Until it is and Bruno can’t stop thinking about it.  
  
It breaks loose when Bruno talks Pablo into getting high behind that old building near the shore. They’re in the middle of winter, Buenos Aires is fucking freezing and Bruno’s hands shake as he rolls a joint for them. The cold, however, fades away after the first couple of smokes. By the time they’re done with the first joint, a part of Bruno wants to take off his coat.  
  
Laughing at him, Pablo places a hand on the button’s of Bruno’s winter jacket, saying, “If you get… If you get  _diseased_ … I won’t…”  
  
Pablo shakes his head as if the gesture articulates what he can’t say. Bruno can’t help himself as he pushes off the wall and kisses him. They settle against the concrete, falling quickly into a comfortable silence that Bruno occasionally breaks with whatever free-association thought happens to be crossing his mind.  
  
Bruno’s mind is in a pleasant, fuzzy state where every thought ends in him touching Pablo. It occurs to him, right there and then, that Pablo has pretty fingers. That Pablo’s fingers are rather long. Bruno kinda wants them. All over him. Maybe in him. Preferably.  
  
Pablo startles him back into reality, chuckling. Standing up, he says, “If I’m doing anything to you with my fingers, Imma do it in our bed.”  
  
Pablo grabs his hand, pulling him up, and Bruno staggers, partly because he’s high and partly because Pablo is extending his hand and saying “Come on, let’s go home,” like  _home_  is Bruno’s flat. When Bruno stumbles on him, they lose their balance for a couple of seconds before Pablo steadies them against a wall. He’s got his arm around Bruno’s waist, making Bruno swallow down hard as he feels sobriety abruptly washing over him. Pablo gives him a look but says nothing on their way back.  
  
*  
  
Before they started going out but after Bruno decided he didn’t really want Laura back, there was this time where every thought in Bruno’s head would start or end with Pablo. It didn’t matter that he was thinking about rent or that milk carton he ought to have thrown out weeks ago, he would always end up thinking about Pablo. That’s how he knew.  
  
He was having a cigarette at the park, making a mental note of his grocery list, when, out of nowhere, Pablo. Pablo really likes those chocolate biscuits. And the brownies, the ones with icing, maybe Bruno should get some of those. For Pablo. And he could go on like that for hours, one thought linking to the next, with Pablo popping in and out until Bruno realized what he was doing. Then it would be all about Pablo. Pablo and these things that happened to him. The way he felt breathless, at times, around him. The way Pablo’s smell sort of lingered and how Bruno couldn’t explain why it was that that smell made him inhale and smile.  
  
This time it’s the same and not at all. He thinks about Pablo. He stays up at night thinking and thinking and never deciding what exactly it is that they’re doing. Because yesterday, when Pablo called because he was at the shop, Bruno reminded him to get juice. He’s pretty sure he’s done that before. The words felt natural as he said them without thinking.  
  
Now, it’s all Bruno can think about. Juice. And Pablo. And home and, “hey, are you living here?” That and maybe a thousand other questions Bruno can’t phrase but that turn in his head and make his insides feel weightless.  
  
Pablo doesn’t say a word when he catches Bruno staring at him or when Bruno stops himself, mid-sentence as he realizes he’s about to say something weirdly domestic.  
  
Bruno considers not doing anything at all. It works for winter just fine. Spring starts alright enough that Bruno almost forgets to catch himself before he asks Pablo to get him a pack of cigarettes.  
  
But it doesn’t last. Not forever. Bruno blames it on Pablo having this project, this huge photography project that means he gets up early and goes to bed late, leaving all his stuff lying around Bruno’s place. Not that Bruno can say anything at all since Pablo usually does most of the cleaning anyway. Plus, Bruno isn’t exactly one for order, so there’s also that.  
  
Bruno isn’t going to say anything about it. He really isn’t. Until his foot gets caught in a cable, he stumbles and falls on a light, rolls over and barely escapes crushing a lens. He sighs because he knows this isn’t just his place anymore.  
  
*  
  
“Hey,” Bruno says, dropping his head on Pablo’s shoulder while Pablo combs his fingers through Bruno’s hair.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Bruno smiles against Pablo’s skin, inhales it until his face is buried deep in the crook of Pablo’s neck. “Do you live here?”  
  
Pablo snorts, and Bruno can tell he’s rolling his eyes when he says, “Is this your subtle way of asking me to pay rent?” When Bruno mumbles something unintelligible, Pablo shrugs his shoulder lightly, forcing Bruno to turn his face. “I can’t remember the last time I saw my apartment other than to grab something,” Pablo says, fingers still in Bruno’s hair.  
  
“You mean you  _still_ have stuff over there?” Bruno teases.  
  
“Yes, my ghost needs his towels.”  
  
“Funny.”  
  
“Hilarious.”  
  
“Well, would your ghost consider moving?”  
  
“My ghost was wondering when you’d ask.”  
  
“Then, maybe, you can tell him that I have. You know, make it official.”  
  
“C’mere, dumbass.”  
  
Bruno is about to protest against the insult but Pablo is grinning at him, and he can’t bring himself to do anything besides kiss him.


End file.
